


your skin and bones turn into something beautiful

by levihans



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levihans/pseuds/levihans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of unrelated takamido ficlets written for <a href="http://lover100.livejournal.com/33883.html">the table of takamido</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**011\. intimacy**

 

It’s mornings like this that Takao likes best. Their legs tangled under the sheets, and his hands moving to touch Midorima’s face. Knees fitting into the backs of his knees, overlapping feet and brushing ankles. Under his fingers Midorima is a mess of bumps, fissures and acne scars.

 

He relishes in the fact that nobody else has seen _Shin-chan_ like this. All they know is the boy who shoots perfect three-pointers on the court. But Takao knows Midorima by the blemishes on his skin. He loves him by smothering kisses over the bruises on his knees.

 

The canvas of Midorima’s skin is coloured with purple and yellow. Takao cruises his fingers over these little spots, occasionally pressing against them just so he could watch the green-haired boy wince. He closes his eyes and curls his spine into Midorima’s body warmth, thinks of their lips meshing, fingers lacing, like they were made for something. Something even stronger than Oha Asa’s predictions. Skin against skin, planets gravitating toward each other.

 

 

When Shintarou finally wakes up, Takao kisses his forehead and watches the tips of his ears bloom red. “Good morning, _Shin-chan_.”

 

Midorima groans and reaches for his glasses. “Good morning, idiot.”

 

 

**087\. biggest fear**

 

Takao kisses like he’s running out of air and Midorima’s lips were oxygen. Their legs tangle under the sheets and he wishes this was easy. But it isn’t, so he forgets to exhale. He forgets he’s breathing in Midorima’s carbon dioxide.

 

He fists into the other boy’s jersey. There isn’t enough time left in the world to map out the acne scars on his face, the bruises on his knees. There isn’t enough time left in the world to kiss his bandaged fingers. There is only now and now will never be enough. There is only Takao and he’ll never be good enough.

 

There is also Midorima, and his skin and bones turn into something beautiful.

 

 

Love, Takao decides, is the fear of losing.

  



	2. you'll never love yourself half as much as i love you

**012\. self-love**

 

Sometimes, Takao wonders why Midorima looks at him as if he could save him from anything bad in the world, when Midorima’s the one saving him instead.

 

He catches his passes and makes excuses for the green-haired boy’s eccentricities. Midorima isn’t an open book. He’s a work of literature. Takao learns to read between the lines, unravel him not by his words but by the gaps in his sentences. This is what he discovers - fate isn’t an excuse for his confidence. Midorima believes in Oha Asa only for the lack of faith in himself.

 

  
  
Takao still has those scars carved into his bones from previous losses in middle school. Somewhere along dragging Shintarou around town in their almost-broken rickshaw, he learns about love. That Midorima isn’t perfect, but that’s what Takao likes best about him. 


	3. just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound

**022\. happiness**

 

Takao still pedals Midorima home after the graduation ceremony. _This will be the final time_ he swears but he doesn’t think he can get away from Shin-chan, ever.

 

In between catching Midorima’s passes, watching the ball leave his hands in a beautiful arc before it passes through the hoop, dragging him around town in their almost-broken rickshaw; Takao learns about Midorima and his quirks and eccentricities and endearing dimension to his otherwise shitty personality. Three years ago he’d never have foreseen them like this. Three years later he figures he’s probably going to miss Shuutoku after all.

 

“Shin-chan?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Are you happy?”

 

Midorima pushes up his glasses. “Am I happier? Yes. Am I happy? That, I can’t say.”

 

Takao cannot stop smiling to himself afterwards.

 


	4. just like a flower poking through the sidewalk crack

**001\. romance**

 

Midorima doesn’t remember when they’ve crossed the lines. His world had always been black and white, fact not fiction. But Takao comes along and

  
  


_paints the shades of grey in between_

 

“I don’t want to hate you, Shin-chan,” Takao admits, beads of perspiration trickling down his temples as he pedals the taller man home from basketball practice. Midorima pushes up his glasses. “Firstly, don’t call me that. Secondly, I don’t care if you hate me or not.”

 

Of course, Takao knows he’s lying. There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

  
  


 

_red, orange, yellow too_

 

The Shuutoku basketball team honestly can’t stand Midorima. Only Takao is crazy enough to be amused and stick around. Sometimes Midorima is annoyed. Most of the time though he secretly enjoys the other boy’s presence. Because as perfect as he is on the court, he’s never really had someone who could put up with his flaws behind the scenes.

 

Plus, he thinks he can get used to the sound of Takao’s laughter.

  
  


 

_blurs the lines between friends and love_

 

Takao carefully places his hand on Midorima’s. Midorima does not blush at all. _At all._

  
  


 

_a little bit of blue_

 

Kise looks at him very seriously. “You see, if you’re not broken, then it isn’t love at all.”

 

Midorima wonders why they're even having this conversation.

 

(But he does feel broken, somewhat. Like whenever Takao comes around his chest starts to hurt, because his lungs are filled with fear and he forgets to exhale. Because love is the fear of losing.)

 

“You should tell Takaocchi how you feel -”

 

“Kise. Shut the fuck up.”

  
  


 

_kisses him hard_

 

“Shin-chan, why do you have to be so fucking tall, goddamn -”

 

It’s Midorima’s turn to take the shorter boy by surprise as he cups his face and suddenly they’re kissing again. He thinks he can do this forever, and ever, and ever.

 

“Takao - I mean, Kazunari. I like you.”

  
“I already know, Shin-chan.”


	5. the person you love is seventy-five percent water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> midorima's pretty ooc in here IM SORRY

**044\. death**

 

_I want to die,_ Midorima says.

 

But Midorima still waits for the traffic light to turn green before he crosses the road. There’s an incoming car and he moves away. He remembers to come up for air underwater. He cuts his wrists horizontally, not vertically. He brings his lucky items with him wherever he goes without fail.

 

He says he wants to die but he still turns up for every hospital appointment. He still takes his medication, lets Takao put a towel on his forehead.

 

And as they kiss, lips meshing furiously as if time is running out, as if there’s no tomorrow to wake up to, all Takao can hear is _don’t let me die._

 

_I won’t,_ Takao says. Midorima is shaking so hard and it’s driving him crazy. He fists into the mattress, thinks that pain demanded to be felt.

 

_I won’t._

  
  
  


 

**032\. water**

 

A person is made up of seventy-five percent water but Takao thinks that Midorima is made of love. So he laughs harder at the taller boy’s quirks, stays around to watch him practise his shots then pedal him home afterwards. Forces himself into Midorima’s house so they can play video games and make red bean soup together (though it usually turns out inedible).

 

Takao doesn’t admit but he’s made of love too. So even when Midorima asks him to _fuck off shut the fuck up stop calling me Shin-chan that’s really gross_ , he just laughs it off. He’ll always laugh it off. Just like how Miyaji will always shit about the green-haired boy’s eccentricities and he’ll always make excuses for them.

 

Because Midorima runs through his veins and he thinks he can’t live without him. Because the person Takao loves is made up of seventy-five percent water.

 


	6. and these fingertips will never run through your skin

**006\. first meeting**

 

Takao first met Midorima in middle school. Just another one of those basketball matches that Teikou was bound to win, and he thinks he will never forget being trashed around even when the opponent wasn’t giving their all. Frustration clawing at his chest, and his veins threatening to explode. You see, he could tell himself that the match could have been saved. He could’ve tried harder. They could’ve tried harder. You know, bullshit like that. But the truth is cold and bitter - Teikou were just better than them. Much better.

 

He had watched Midorima shoot. Ball leaving his hands in a beautiful arc before it passed through the hoop, leaving the spectators astonished, and Takao didn’t want to be astonished but he was. He was rendered fucking breathless. That was just what Midorima was, the person Takao could never be.

  
  


 

But their hands first meet second year of high school. Takao touches Midorima’s taped fingers, thinks that three years ago it killed him to realise that he was never going to be as good as him, but three years later their hands meet and all he wants is to just understand him. Because Midorima tunes in to Oha Asa every fucking morning, aggravates the team with his lucky items, selfish requests and whatnot. Because Midorima organises his clothing by colour and says things that are deemed as social suicide. Because Midorima also stays back after every practice to practise his shots. Because Midorima still passes the ball to Takao on the court.

 

Because as much as he wants to hate him, he can’t.

  
  


 

The green-haired boy glares. “Takao, what are you doing.”

 

Takao just laughs it off. “Nothing, _Shin-chan._ ”

  
  
  


 

**094\. sanctuary**

 

Midorima is horrible with words but Takao makes up for it. Even so he doesn’t know how to explain that Takao’s body was his sanctuary. It starts with the little touches. Just their elbows brushing, shoulders hitting in a game. Back pressed to back in the locker room, and through the material of Takao’s jersey, the thin sheet of his perspiration, Midorima thinks he can give away a little bit of his faith. Then Takao is peppering kisses down the taller boy’s jawline and Midorima wants to return the favour. He wants to push harder until their hips are grinding and his mouth is moving in to capture the moment. But he’s Midorima and Midorima is horrible with words so he just rests his fingers on the nape of the other boy’s neck, hoping that skin against skin will speak louder volumes. Hoping that Takao can hear the _I love you_ in the microspaces.

 

And maybe one day he will admit that Takao saved him. But for now, as they stay a mess of tangled limbs on the bed, he thinks that this is enough. That Takao knows him well enough to understand.

 


	7. they would be as in love with you as i am

**020\. laughter**

 

Midorima secretly bases their relationship on Takao’s laughter. The first time he hears it he’s never wanted to punch someone harder in the face. At least that’s what he tells Takao - _I want to fucking punch you get the fuck away from me oh my god stop calling me Shin-chan it’s gross as fuck_. But he does this half-heartedly and of course Takao sees through it. Along the way, Midorima learns that Takao sees through everything.

 

Then the seniors start shitting about Midorima in his face, which they have every right to by the way because even Takao can’t stand him at times. He’s weird, awfully anal about horoscopes and whatnot. Doesn’t speak like a normal high school student. Has the strangest need to show off his superiority. Takao thinks he’s just insecure, really.

 

So when Midorima does something stupid and Miyaji calls him a little shit and he can’t admit that it hurts but he can’t deny it either, Takao laughs it off. Makes excuses for his quirks. Pretends he has an otherworldly sense of humor and acts amused, though he does find them endearing at times.

  
Slowly, it’s just a matter of time before Midorima thinks he can get used to the sound of the other boy’s laughter. Magnetic, a little giddying when he’s breathing chuckles against his chest. Mouth so close to his ear, all dark eyes and whispery giggles. Midorima relaxes into Takao’s voice, into his body, and where their legs tangle and Takao’s chin is resting on his collarbone, he feels safe. He doesn’t ever want him to leave.


	8. i've fallen for your eyes but they don't know me yet

**067\. have**

 

Takao is exhausted as hell but he still puts up with Midorima’s shit anyway. It takes everything out of him to keep up but if this is what it takes to be the shadow to Midorima’s light, he’ll push through. So even after the extra tough practice, he still pedals him home. He thinks he always will.

 

“Faster, you good for nothing!” the green-haired boy snaps. “I still have to work on that Biology assignment.”

 

“Well, I have to work on that too,” Takao deadpans.

 

“As if you ever do your work.”

 

Takao halts, turns back for a moment to take a good look at Midorima’s face and he can’t hear his thoughts, feels them instead, traced in indiscernible letters under his skin, shuddering into his veins.

 

“Shin-chan?”

 

Said boy flushes for the slightest fragment of a second, then promptly pushes his glasses up. “What?”

 

“You are wrong. I am good at something.”

 

Midorima glares at him, edging him to go on. Takao shifts forward. “I am good. At falling in love with people I can’t have.”

  
  
  


 

**013\. kisses**

 

Takao does this thing where he peppers kisses up Midorima’s neck, tracing the curve of his jawline with his lips, mapping out the dip of his collarbone with his tongue. Then their mouths meet midway and he’s breathing chuckles against the taller boy’s lips, all secretive smiles and _Shin-chan I love you that’s right open your mouth for me_. Midorima never learns to get used to this and tilts his head lower so their foreheads touch and Takao can’t see him blush. But Takao manages to capture the moment - he always does. He pushes Midorima’s chin up and stares at him with a passion so fervent he thinks he’s going to burst. _The scarlet on your cheeks will always be my favourite colour, Shin-chan._

  
And it’s only a matter of minutes before they turn into a mess of tangled arms and legs, and Midorima tries to register Takao’s heartbeat in the microspaces between their chests, Takao’s knee jabbing into his left thigh, and it’s warm. It’s safe. Their lips meet again, and again, and again; and he thinks this hurts enough to be love.


	9. i can be your china doll if you like to see me fall

**064\. need**

 

Midorima still doesn’t understand why they always end up like this - a mess of tangled legs under the sheets, and he has his back turned towards Takao so their eyes can’t meet.

 

With Takao everything is new and he’s never liked messing with fate, so why are they lying down here? Why is he weighing his options? All he knows is the finger trailing down his spine and all he sees are the hands sinking into his flesh, carving scars into his bones. And these scars are everything he holds onto, because this is the kind of pain he thinks he can get used to, forever and ever and ever.

 

The seconds drift into minutes, then hours. Midorima thinks about regret. If he’ll regret his silences or if he’ll regret his words. Then he closes his eyes and remembers their high school days and how he slowly started passing the ball to the other team members, how he started playing not just for himself but for the team. How Takao stuck around to watch him practise his shots then pedal him home afterwards.

 

So when the sun rises and Takao decides he’s sick of this thing where they push and pull and he leaves the bed, Midorima grabs his wrist. _I need you._

  
  
  


 

**083\. break-up**

 

The struggle to forget. Takao wonders which one of them it’ll kill first. So even after five months of evening college classes and stumbling into parties like a mess of alcohol-stained cheeks and whispery giggles, he still remembers. At least, he thinks, Midorima wouldn’t be the one who’s hurting more.

 

The worst part is, he revisits those memories. He burns them into his skin so that when he wakes up the next morning they’ll hurt. Then maybe he can wallow in self pity, something along the lines of _chasing after somebody I can never be in middle school to chasing after somebody I can never have in high school to chasing after somebody I can never keep_. There’s this tugging at his chest when he picks up the ball and thinks about Midorima’s fingers and how they grab onto it the same way they wrap around Takao’s shoulders, and he likes it. He likes it a little too much.

 

And maybe one day he’ll stop calling Midorima up just to hear his voice again for five seconds. Maybe one day he’ll stop ignoring his texts and reply the way friends should. Maybe one day he’ll accept that they loved but like all things love fades and he’s left to miss what they were, not who he is now.  

 


	10. in my head you tell me things you've never said

**031\. music**

 

Takao really likes it when Midorima plays the piano, especially if it’s on his tummy. Tape unraveled revealing slender fingers and they cruise over his slightly chiseled abdomen before pressing onto the canvas of his skin, to a rhythm that exists in the microspaces between their touching ankles and overlapping feet. The left hand plays the chords. _You are my anchor._ The right hand plays the melody. _You give me meaning._

 

And sure, Midorima struggles with his words but he connects the dots, and where their lips collide, he sees them in notes splayed all over the sheets, translates his love into a song, music quiet but lyrical. Takao’s skin against his skin - infinite possibilities, crescendos where the shorter boy’s mouth sucks into the nape of his neck, decrescendos where he finally sags his shoulders and curls his spine into Takao’s body warmth. Because Takao’s body is his sanctuary, his instrument and without him, the music can’t exist. Without him, the silence will eat him away, the same way everything else does.

  
  
  


 

**004\. regret**

 

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that after today, they’re probably not going to see each other for a really long time. Midorima stands at a corner with arms folded, watches Takao say his goodbyes to the first-years and second-years. He never really got used to it - the way Takao moved through the room like breathing was easy. Pushing his glasses up, he briefly thinks about college and basketball scholarships and generally, the next few years without the black-haired boy by his side. And like everything else, it kills him.

 

Three years. He still struggles with his words, pushes them around, rather sticking to showing off his superiority than displaying stupid things (read: his feelings). It was easier that way but some part of him regretted it. Midorima fully understands his own ego, his queerness and that not everybody could stand him. But there was Takao and Takao embraced him and that kills him too. It kills him that three years later he still hasn’t said anything substantial to demonstrate he was at least one percent thankful that Takao was in his life.

 

Midorima continues watching, seemingly disinterested. Wondering if he’ll regret his silences or his words.


	11. like dreaming of angels and leaving without them

**051\. dreams**

 

_dream (n)_

 

_1\. a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep._

 

Midorima’s ninety percent sure Takao lingers in his subconscious, all black hair and mischievous blue eyes, faint and imprinted into the back of his head. He wipes the sleep out of his eyes and vaguely remembers last night’s dream. Even now he still feels it - Takao’s body against his, knee lightly jabbing into his back, their ankles touching; and Midorima’s far too conscious of the shorter boy’s body warmth, his scent a mix of soap and something else he can’t name, something so pleasant it fills up his lungs and for a moment, he forgets to exhale.

 

Midorima reaches for his glasses. He’d rather die than admit it was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

  
  


 

_2\. a cherished aspiration, ambition, or ideal._

 

When Takao was in middle school, he dreamt of becoming like _that green-haired fuckface from Teikou._ He almost felt it - the ball leaving his hands, and he was sure it was gonna pass through the hoop. Far too sure. He imagined what it was like to be that confident, to have the world in his hands and know where he was going with it. It made him shake, convulse and he might have wanted to throw up because he knew he could never be like him after all. Green-haired fuckface was just better than him. It was a fact.

 

But high school came and _why bear a grudge?_ Takao shrugged. Green-haired fuckface turned out to be the shittiest person ever. Shittiest person Takao has ever come across, hands down. But Midorima stayed behind even when practice was over, and brought his stupid lucky items along to school like _every fucking day_ , seriously, what the hell. Takao enjoyed the way Midorima pushed up his glasses when Ootsubo asked about that potted cactus and Miyaji had to hold himself back from punching the fuck out of his face. (He punched himself instead.)

 

Then time passed and slowly, Takao started to dream of winning for Shuutoku. Of winning with Midorima. Then he dreamed of unravelling him, fold by fold, reach out to the parts of him he doesn’t let anybody see. His insecurities, the ones he tried so hard to cover behind a facade of superiority. He dreamed of Midorima calling out his name in this deep, hot voice - _“Kazunari.”_

 

And now, five years later, as they struggle with college - Midorima with med school, basketball scholarships and whatnot, Takao with his shitty Business grades; he still dreams. As they lay in bed with limbs tangled and Midorima’s fingers resting on the nape of his neck, he dreams of an endless future, of infinite possibilities, with green-haired fuckface. All of him, from his OCDs to his taped fingers, to the curve of that fine ass. All of him.


	12. cause you love love love when you know i can't love

**058\. passage**

 

Takao flings Midorima’s lucky items off the shelf, breaks his radio player so he can’t listen to Oha Asa anymore. Then he pins the green-haired boy against the wall and kisses him hard. Midorima stiffens, unable to open his mouth. His fists clench so Takao won’t be able to lace their fingers together.

 

It’s admittedly frightening to catch glimpses of colour in a world he’s always known as black and white. Takao guides the taller boy’s hand to his chest, hoping he can find passage to the side that Midorima closes off from everybody else. Hoping that tomorrow morning Midorima wakes up to a universe in full colour. That if he feels sad or angry or incompetent it’s totally okay to not hide behind a facade of superiority. That feelings made him human and so much more beautiful than he really is.

 

Slowly but surely, Midorima relaxes into Takao’s touch. Then their lips are melding and he unclenches his fists, one hand feeling against the other boy’s chest, the other hand moving to grab Takao’s so their fingers interlock.

 

(Takao smiles into the kiss.)

  
  
  


 

**079\. surprise**

 

Takao manages to lead Midorima into the room albeit his futile attempts at covering the taller boy’s eyes. Midorima initially pushes him off, hissing under his breath, _“Idiot, what are you up to?”_

 

It doesn’t stop him from releasing a tiny gasp as they finally enter the room though. Takao flashes a triumphant grin up at him. Streamers are draped haphazardly over the windows and Miyaji stands in the middle of the room holding what Midorima thinks is truly the ugliest-looking cake in the universe. The entire Shuutoku team is here as well, looking awkward as fuck but Midorima thinks that this is enough. Cheeks coloured with scarlet, he pushes up his glasses. “Uh.”

 

“Happy birthday. Uh. Midorima.” Ootsubo coughs. The green-haired boy stands with feet rooted to the ground, unable to react. Something warm fills his chest.

 

“Shin-chan, say something! All of us planned this for you!”

 

 _All of us._ Though he knows that this little event was most probably initiated and carried out by Takao, he couldn’t deny that he really liked the sound of it. Still it makes him feel warm and fuzzy and stupid and he would rather throw himself off the building than admit that aloud. He remembers Kuroko’s words and how much he protested against them, choosing rather to isolate himself from the rest of the human population. But Takao drew him back and maybe he enjoyed playing for Shuutoku a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

 

“Well. Th-thank you,” Midorima stutters. Miyaji snorts. “You little shit. Up for cake?”

  
  
  


 

_a few minutes later_

  
  


“This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

 

“Of course. It’s baked by Takao.”

 

_“Senpai!”_


	13. i was born to tell you i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday takao!!!!!!!!!!!!! ❤

**029\. day**

 

Takao leaves his house terribly confused. He’s greeted by the sight of Midorima and their rickshaw, just that this time the green-haired boy takes the driver’s seat. “Shin-chan, what-”

 

Midorima pushes up his glasses out of habit, muttering _you’re such an idiot_ under his breath then gestures at the passenger’s seat. “Take a seat.”

 

Takao cautiously enters the rickshaw, brows furrowed. What day is it today? Is this something to do with Midorima’s stupid superstitions and whatnot? Did Oha Asa mention that Cancers had to submit to their partners just for today? He doesn’t comprehend Midorima’s actions, but notes that the taller boy is blushing, and ridiculously embarrassed. Takao can’t help but find it endearing.

 

 

When they finally reach school, Midorima parks the rickshaw by the gate, clearing his throat. “Happy birthday, uh. Kazunari.”

  
Sometimes, Takao forgets how much of a loss for words Midorima puts him at, seriously. This time, his cheeks turn scarlet as well.


	14. save me from myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied eating disorder

**046\. healing**

 

He starts by not obeying Oha Asa, though he stills listens. Takao thinks he’ll stop eventually. Still he can’t help but notice the way Midorima’s fists clench for a while, whenever they pass by a shop offering that day’s lucky item. _Bonsai. Stuffed giraffe. Alice in Wonderland themed pocket watch._ Takao can see it - how Midorima craved to nitpick over these tiny details if that would bring him a few steps closer to perfection. He squeezes Midorima’s hands, not letting them ball into fists.

 

Three months later, Midorima allows Takao to break his radio player. So he can stop listening to Oha Asa entirely. Takao circles his thumb over the nape of the other boy’s neck, at a loss for words. They don’t speak about perfection though. Here’s the thing - Midorima knows very well that it doesn’t exist. Takao quietly argues that it’s all about perspective, that everybody’s idea of perfection is different. Midorima has his three pointers, and Takao has Midorima. The universe just works like that.

 

In their third year, after finally leaving the basketball team, Midorima starts to make himself throw up, for the lack of faith he used to put in fate. But after all this time, he realises he never believed in himself to begin with, though his insecurities were easily hidden behind a facade of superiority. It was when Takao confronted him that everything began spiralling downhill. He figured he needed it though. He needed someone to break him.

 

College. Med school. Basketball scholarships. That whole loaf of bread he just swallowed down. He forces two fingers even deeper into the back of his throat.

 

Takao stops him right during finals period. Midorima is a little angry - no, a lot. It scares Takao because the taller boy usually keeps his calm. Something about pride issues. But maybe Midorima is fed up with the way Takao always manages to break his defenses. He doesn’t want to get too attached.

 

Throughout college, Midorima doesn’t stop purging entirely. He does it once in a while, when things get too stressful. Whenever he has his body hunched over the toilet bowl, one hand pushing his fringe backwards, the other hand down his throat, all acidic mouth and perspiration trickling down the temples, he thinks of Takao. He thinks of graduation, when Takao had kissed him on the forehead. And it aches. The tugging at his chest.

 

Slowly though Midorima starts to heal. He learns to live with his anxieties, with his fears. He learns about love and hopes that one day he’ll fully embrace it. Maybe he’ll call up Takao again and they can reunite over red bean soup. Maybe he’ll stop chasing after perfection forever.

  
  


**024\. tears**

 

Takao walks a little faster so their shoulders wouldn’t brush. Still he says lamely, “Top four, huh? Well I was expecting something like that. We did pretty well against that Rakuzan.”

 

And he’s not lying about it, somewhat. Akashi was a monster. Takao is reminded of middle school, how Teikou had so easily crushed them. Cheeks stained with tear tracks, he glances over at Midorima, notices that the green-haired boy is crying too. “Eh, is Shin-chan broken?”

 

The rest of the team enter the locker room first, awfully silent.

 

“But sorry,” Takao continues. “I can’t really comfort you right now.”

 

Midorima grits his teeth, can’t put his emotions to words, feels them shuddering into his veins instead. Making a final, feeble attempt at appearing strong, he clears his throat as Takao throws himself against the wall. “Hmph. I would think so.”

 

But Midorima almost immediately takes his words back. He’s crying right now too, isn’t he? The moment he stepped into Shuutoku, the moment he befriended Takao - he stopped learning to depend on himself. He gave away his faith, bit by bit.

 

Akashi’s words still ring in his head. _If you crave victory, become less compassionate._

 

Midorima finds himself, surprisingly, not wanting to obey. Eyes hot with tears, he willingly admits, “But, me too. It’s really frustrating... losing.”

 

Takao turns around. Midorima catches him smiling through his tears.

  



	15. winged or chained, i ask you would you have stayed?

**033\. love**

 

Sometimes Takao is afraid, that Midorima isn’t in love with him but with the idea of them. With the feeling of love itself. Because Takao feels like nothing and Midorima is - well, Midorima is everything to him. What if he’s in love with the way Takao is determined to save him? Press lips onto taped fingers and vow to fill up the holes in his chest? What if he’s in love with the way Takao loves the human behind his superhuman facade? Reach out to his flaws and eccentricities and caress them with bruised hands?

 

Aren’t they just two people ashamed to be human? Midorima is faraway, out of reach and Takao is still nothing. Midorima is broken and beautiful and overly fascinating and Takao loves him to the bones but he is still nothing. He shines and Takao - Takao is dim and left to relish the afterglow.

  
  


As Takao crosses the road, he tries to list down everything he knows and loves about Shintarou Midorima. Fingers, fingers, fingers and the way they traverse expertly across the piano keys. Midorima hates cats because he’s been scratched by one before and Takao finds that extremely endearing. He’s horrible at cooking too, and that Takao finds cute.

 

There’s this constant tugging at his chest and it hurts but what’s love if it doesn’t hurt?

 

The car slams into his body and for that moment, his head is filled with images of Midorima in middle school, conveniently trashing them in a game. He had been out of reach from the beginning, anyway.

  
  
  
  


**062\. should have**

 

Takao knows he should have went after him. Fuck, even Miyaji came down to send him off. Kise too. And Kagami. Somebody as useless as Kagami Taiga went to the airport to send Midorima off. Everybody knows they both hate each other to the bone but he’s there. Well, maybe not as much as Takao hates Midorima. Not as much as he hates himself.

  
  


Life after Shuutoku had always been a touchy topic. Midorima is practical, knows where he’s going, knows that he can’t be playing basketball forever. Though he did mention, while pushing up his glasses, that he might play in university though there was no way he’d pursue a professional career in the sport. Takao understands but still feels a little bitter. He’d be lucky if he could even get into a local college. Nobody’s going to scout him. Nobody’s going to fight for him the same way they’d fight for Midorima.

 

Takao knows he should have went after him. Tell him that he loves him before he leaves the country. Write it across the skyline, _I’m in love with you, Shin-chan. I love you, I love you, I fucking love you and your social obliviousness and lucky items and awkwardness in general I just love every stupid thing you do_. But he knows he can’t stick around forever. Midorima has grown, now less obnoxious, willing to depend on others and Takao doesn’t need to be there.

 

So he doesn’t go after him. He stops chasing after somebody he can’t keep.

 


	16. sometimes, i still need you

**084\. make-up**

 

Three weeks later, Midorima finally grows some balls and gives Takao a call. Takao doesn’t pick up the first two times, stares at the caller ID, resists himself from smirking at the phone screen. Loneliness is contagious.

 

The third time, he mouths _Fuck you_ against the speaker and puts down the phone.

 

 

Takao waits till it’s past midnight over at America to call back. He coils the wire around his finger, admittedly anxious. Midorima hears the smile in his voice though. “It’s 2 a.m. here, Takao.”

 

“I know you are awake... Shin-chan.”

 

The green-haired boy cringes. Leaning his back against the wall, he starts, “I-”

 

“Yeah. I miss you too.”

 

“Fuck you too.” Takao can almost envision the way Midorima’s brows are probably furrowed right now. He chuckles and it isn’t genuine. “You heard that?”

 

Midorima pushes up his glasses. “I’ll Skype you in the morning.”

 

Takao thinks of the past three weeks and how much his life has changed in just twenty-one days, the lump located at the back of his throat painfully bitter. He thinks of Midorima’s feelings and then his own, that he isn’t the only who’s grown too attached. That Midorima is probably hurting too. That they’re just playing a game of who hurts more. Takao is, unfortunately, emerging victorious.

 

It’s not Midorima’s fault, that much he admits. It’s not his fault for choosing to study medicine at an Ivy college. It’s not his fault for chasing after his dreams of being a doctor. Takao shouldn’t have spent his entire high school life chasing after Midorima. He shouldn’t have been satisfied with being the shadow cast by Midorima’s light.

 

Everybody around them laughs, says that Midorima cannot live without Takao. But Takao knows they’re wrong. That fixing the person he loved meant putting himself up to be broken.

  
His voice comes out hoarse, raw with sadness. “Yeah. Okay.”


	17. they say that the world was built for two

**010\. home**

 

You can’t call it a home, not really. The sofa is tattered and Takao’s Business notes, more like sheets of paper scrawled over with his ugly handwriting, are scattered all over the floor. The kitchen wallpaper is also stained with their previous failed attempts at cooking and unfortunately, burn marks. The television is faulty, there are five day old dishes left in the sink waiting dutifully to be washed, the bed creaks - you get the drift. But Takao likes it like that, even if Midorima comes home late from med school, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Takao will always be up, waiting.

 

There’s nothing scarier than lapsing into adulthood. After university, they’re going to venture out into the working world. Midorima can be successful, Takao thinks. He’s going to slot in at a local hospital as an intern during his final semester anyway. Takao is left with his shitty Business grades and he still doesn’t know what to do. Investment firms? Accounting companies? His hands grow clammy as he thinks of all the money he has to handle. The money they need to build a home and not be shunned by society with.

 

Takao dreams of the bigger house they’ll buy the next time. Maybe Midorima will be open to having kids and they can adopt one or two from the orphanage. Maybe Midorima’s parents can come visit after they’ve decided they’re tired of hating Takao and want to be happy for the both of them. Maybe the studying and the slogging will be worth it.

 

High school was much easier in comparison. Basketball felt like ages ago. They play very rarely now, since Midorima’s schedules are absolutely draining and Takao still is struggling with his grades anyway. The shorter boy learns to put in effort in his academics, if that would make their future a little brighter. So he makes notes and eats out of instant food boxes, something which Midorima protests against. He just laughs sheepishly in response.

 

A home isn’t just a house, Takao tells himself. Home is family. Home is pieces scattered all over the universe, and the journey to find them, to put them back together again. Home is where Midorima’s and Takao’s legs tangle, their bodies pressed up against each other. Skin against skin.

  
  
  


Midorima comes home every night into Takao’s arms. They wrap around his waist, and the black-haired boy’s nose nuzzles into his stomach. _“You’re home, Shin-chan.”_


	18. take a look at me so you can see how beautiful you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are rly horribly written o man i'm sorry :(

**002\. beauty**

 

The first time Takao watches Midorima shoot, he thinks that the green-haired boy is beautiful. So beautiful it blinds him with jealousy, something akin to anger and it burns at the back of his throat, tearing his flesh, carving scars into his bones. Because Midorima’s beauty is faraway, so faraway and Takao doesn’t comprehend. He just deludes himself into thinking that he hates him.

 

The first time they introduce Midorima to Takao as his team mate in Shuutoku, Takao laughs, voice laced with absolute misery. They train together, play together and he’s left to dissolve in the shadows.

 

(Midorima is also an idiot. The team cannot stand him. Miyaji often discusses his plans with Takao on how to ruin the former’s life. Takao just laughs, plays along and falls quietly in love.)

 

The first time they kiss Takao threw Midorima’s lucky items into the garbage. Some of the items are extremely expensive but he honestly doesn’t care. Their lips meld and he’s tiptoeing, and the tips of Midorima’s ears bloom red. Even then, Takao still thinks he’s really beautiful. So beautiful he can’t bear to look at him because it hurts - the fear of losing him.

 

So Takao goes first. He’s almost glad he doesn’t have to watch Midorima leave. Because he knows they can’t work, because pain demanded to be felt.

  
  


_“Shin-chan?”_

 

_“What?”_

 

_“Take a look at me so you can see how beautiful you are.”_

  
  
  


 

**036\. whew**

 

Midorima stumbles awkwardly into the ward, fruit basket at hand. His brows knit together. “You scared me to death.”

 

A smirk tugs at the corner of Takao’s lips. “Wow, Shin-chan. Are you actually worried about me?”

 

The green-haired boy glares at him. “Don’t be a fool, Takao.”

 

Takao tries to sit up, but he’s still weak, joints stiff, limbs trembly. These past two weeks he’s just been slipping in out and of consciousness, occasionally entertaining himself with the television which is actually really boring by the way. He misses the feel of the basketball in his hands, misses passing the ball to his teammates. Last night his temperature hit an all time high of 41.6 degrees and he was admitted to the emergency ward. After a couple of blood tests, numerous dosages of medicine, his fever finally subsided.

 

“Ah, it’s just scarlet fever. Well, if I were dying, would I get to see you cry-”

 

“Shut up. Don’t go there.” Midorima hands him an apple. Takao smiles up at him, genuine this time. “I’ll be fine.”

 

And he isn’t lying. The rashes that cover the canvas of his body are slowly disappearing. He’s still too weak to get out of bed but at least he can now converse with people without feeling like he’s going to throw up any moment. Just a few more days in here and he’ll be fine. Really.

 

“You better be. Now quickly get better and we can play together again.”

 

“ _Aww,_ you clearly miss me, Shin-chan-”

  
“Takao, shut up!”


	19. even if saving you sends me to heaven

**008\. resolutions**

 

Midorima doesn’t understand why he lets Takao drag him to the coast so they can watch the _Hatsuhinode_ together, the only source of light they have emanating from Takao’s phone as the black-haired boy aggressively clicks at the buttons, clearly playing some stupid game or whatever. They’re not alone - there are a few people lingering around the beach, waiting to catch the first sunrise of the new year. He watches the waves overlap, recede; and immerses in the after-party quiet.

 

Takao sneaks a glance at him when his game finishes, all sleepy eyes and tiny smiles, the slightest traces of alcohol coursing through his veins. Miyaji had made them drink a little, stating that it was customary for the first-years to do so (he just wanted to get Midorima drunk, but failed of course).

 

The year had ended, that was that. Ootsubo, Kimura, Miyaji and the other third-years were all going to graduate. Takao almost feels bad that they weren’t going to win a competition together ever, now that the Winter Cup’s over. Ootsubo has even clinched a basketball scholarship and he guesses he’s not going to see him around the city for a while. Something foreign tugs at his chest, and he doesn’t want to know what.

 

 

“Shin-chan!”

 

Midorima frowns. “What?”

 

“Let’s make, like, uh, New Year’s resolutions.”

 

The green-haired boy stares at Takao as if the stupidest thing he’s ever heard just came out of the latter’s mouth. Takao wriggles his brows. “Come on! We both know you are secretly a sucker for this kind of things.”

 

Midorima blushes momentarily, _“Am not!”_ , before clearing his throat and pushing up his glasses. “Don’t be a fool, Takao. New Year’s resolutions are child’s play.”

 

Takao shrugs. “Aren’t you a very goal-oriented person? It wouldn’t kill you, _come on._ ”

 

 _Ugh fine_ he mouths and Takao laughs victoriously. “Okay! You start first.”

 

“I want - I _will_ beat Akashi in the next Interhigh.”

 

The tugging at his chest almost becomes painful. Takao wants to reach out and smooth the creases on Midorima’s forehead.

 

“We will,” he says instead. “We will beat him together. Shuutoku will take the cup.”

 

 

Their ankles are touching and he suddenly feels extremely conscious of the contact. What Takao doesn’t say is _I will confess to you. I will confess to you, idiot._ And he will, maybe after they win the Interhigh together. Whatever.

 

The sun begins to peek above the horizon, sky hued with pink and orange. This is enough, Takao thinks. A new year means goodbyes and though he figures he’s had a taste of them, bittersweet and tear inducing, they still have two more years to work things out. One day he’ll stop dissolving in the shadows and take Midorima’s hand.

 

_I will not be left behind. I will stand next to you. Forever._

 


	20. i'm a war of head versus heart

**003\. Forgiveness**

 

The tension in the air is thick, something which can only dissipate with time. But they’re left with seconds. Not days, not months. Just the mere, quick ticking of a clock. Midorima looks at the floor, pushing up his glasses out of habit. Takao wants to snicker, _Yeah. Look at the floor, not my face. As if that would solve anything._

 

Not many know about Midorima’s departure, except maybe Miyaji who collects every detail about the green-haired boy he can possibly find in hopes of using them as threats, blackmail, ways to ruin Midorima Shintarou’s life, et cetera. And of course, there’s Takao. Takao learns about everything.

 

“I called you up last night,” Midorima clears his throat, still unwilling to look the other boy in the eye. Takao looks at him, observes the slight flush skating across his cheeks. Emotions he’s incapable of handling. Words that are dying in his throat. The black-haired boy laughs and moves in to touch his face. “You were drunk. You said you loved me.”

 

“I need to board the plane soon,” Midorima says, frowning. Takao craves to smooth the creases on his forehead. “You don’t even drink, Shin-chan. What’s gotten into you?”

 

“We’re legal now,” he retorts very matter-of-factly. Takao laughs but the sound that rips through his throat sounds more like a choked sob. The more he tries to hold the tears in, the easier they escape.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Kazu.”

 

“It’s okay, Shin-chan. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you too.”

 

Both of them don’t have the heart to bite back their words.

 

 

 

**017\. forbidden**

 

Midorima tells him he could leave if he wanted to and really, he’s right. It’s stupid to stay. Takao is a war of head versus heart.

  
  


Head: Sometimes, he dreams of Midorima shooting, the ball passing through the hoop in a perfect arc and he wakes up with his face planted to the sink. Mouth acidic, he wishes he could ban the green-haired boy from his subconscious.

 

Midorima’s parents don’t like Takao and the latter pouts and tugs on the taller boy’s arm, hoping that maybe his boyfriend would stand up for him. Midorima just pushes up his glasses and tells him he could leave.

 

Takao’s thoughts protest against everything about him.

  
  
  


Heart: Midorima isn’t good for him. He claws at his pride and leaves behind nothing but scars. Takao listens out for the gaps in his sentences, the subtle meaning behind his words. The cracks in his facade. He falls in love with his flaws, the person behind his supposed superior nature. But Midorima is also poison. Sometimes, Takao sees his arteries branching out into capillaries, then into veins and envisions the taller boy travelling through his bloodstream.

 

He throws up harder into the sink.

 


	21. take me home to my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied suicide attempt and eating disorder

**047\. life**

 

“He lined up all his pills along the edge of the table,” Midorima breathes. Almost a whisper. He pauses to push up his glasses, averting Takao’s eyes. “He told me he didn’t know what he was doing. Just swallowing them, one by one. He felt numb and sad and the world came to a standstill.”

 

Takao tucks his fringe behind the ear, leaning in to indicate that he is listening. That he knows this is really hard for him. Midorima pauses again, fisting into the sheets, face crumpled with sadness. “Takao?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you ever thought of dying?”

 

The black-haired man thinks about the car accident. About the day in the hospital, where they both watched the figure lay in bed like a mess of crushed dreams and broken legs. He shudders, Midorima’s voice in his head still loud and laced with misery. _Even Oha Asa couldn’t save me._

 

Takao tucks his knees into his chest. “We are winners. The Shin-chan then isn’t the Shin-chan I know now. But I still find parts of him in you.” _When you push up your glasses, or walk past a store and stare at the potted cactus you once brought to practice._

 

“People who enjoy life are winners,” he continues. Midorima is trying, that much they both know. They don’t shop for his lucky items anymore. He doesn’t make himself throw up anymore. Some nights, he even eats take-out with Takao at the balcony. Neither does he shy away when Takao presses kisses onto his prosthetic legs. They still feel foreign, and there’s a hole left in his chest from when they used to play together - Midorima and his three-pointers, Takao and his passes.

 

 

“Shin-chan, have you ever thought of dying?”

 

“Yes,” he admits quietly. “But then I thought of you.”

 

 

 

**038\. dirt**

 

The first time they had sex, Takao can’t help but notice Midorima washes his hands a little too much afterwards. Takao leans in to touch his hands, now scrubbed red and raw, and Midorima flinches away, pushing up his glasses. The green-haired boy avoids doorknobs, handrails. He can’t bring himself to turn off the tap. This is reminiscent of the first time they held hands, hugged, kissed, except much worse and Takao can’t admit it but it hurts.

 

He stares at the taller boy’s back, aching to traverse his fingers across the canvas of his skin, run them up along the curve of his spine. He clenches his fists instead. Midorima doesn’t mean it, Takao tries to convince himself. But whenever they touch, Takao leaves behind more bruises than love. Scars and lovebites. Dirt.

  
In this bed, they’re miles and miles apart.

 


End file.
